In order to survive the apocalypse
your eyes must travel down long rails.

Eyes haunted by lead pipes, swinging down, ruthless.

In order to survive the apocalypse
you must live in the streets,
wear the same grey sweater for one year.

Dig through garbage for cool ranch Doritos, scream to the ***** ******* who killed your husband
on a train named Fire,

they live in the air, possess your dreams, controlling your need for dope.

In order to hit rock bottom
you must be ignored by everyone,
injustice is a needle plunging into
stars,

lethal juice taking away shine.

In order for you to survive you will memorize every erupted sidewalk,
learn the ways of a wayward leaf,

float emptiness
hoping to land
somewhere safe

you must patrol grubby alleyways
speaking to dumpsters
hoping for the same men
who killed your beloved
to **** you too.

In order to get relief
she will cry in my arms
a stupid hot dog and some ginger ale will seem like gourmet food
in a Oakland 7-11 you have been ousted from.

Do they know your story?

She will break your heart.

But for one hour,
as we talked,

her ***** beaten vengeful eyes
melted down to sweet butter
and I know Heaven and kindness still lived inside her,

as I noticed an angel
screaming from the throat
of an apocalyptic survivor
whose love got murdered for no reason on a train named Fire

and nobody gave a ****.

Her african eyes
burning me,
forever.